


Slow Hands

by CamelotQueen



Category: Pilgrimage (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Miscommunication, Sign Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:40:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27495862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamelotQueen/pseuds/CamelotQueen
Summary: A cute new neighbor moves in across from Diarmuid. He tries to start a conversation with him but discovers he's mute. So... Diarmuid takes it upon himself to learn ISL to get to know him better.
Relationships: Brother Diarmuid/The Mute
Comments: 12
Kudos: 34





	Slow Hands

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while ago but I guess I can post it here... I'm nervous lol please be nice.

Diarmuid spots a moving truck outside of his flat, which can only mean one thing: someone is moving in next door. This information excites him because his last neighbor had a tendency to party with his friends into the late hours of the night and Diarmuid was too polite to ever ask him to quiet down. But now he doesn’t have to worry about that anymore and he hopes his new neighbor will be much quieter. 

He has the idea to bake something for them, as a housewarming gift and a welcome into the neighborhood. And also perhaps a sneaky way to scout out what kind of person they are. He’s not sure what would go over best, but he settles for the classic chocolate chip cookies. 

So the next day, when the truck and all the boxes are gone, he heads over to knock on the door with a plate of cookies. When the door opens, he is _ not _ expecting a tall, broad, burly man with a face that looked like it was sculpted from marble (and then whacked with a baseball bat a few times). He nearly drops the plate in surprise but then gathers himself quickly, clearing his throat as the man looks at him with an indistinguishable expression. 

“Um, hi… I saw you moved in yesterday. I just wanted to welcome you to, uh, the neighborhood!” Diarmuid stutters awkwardly. He shoves the plate in his direction. “Here, I made cookies!” 

The man stares at the plate in surprise before accepting it. He looks back up at Diarmuid and gives him a small nod. 

“Uh,” Diarmuid continues. “I live just over there. If you ever need anything, just stop over. I’m around most days. Where are you moving from?” 

The man just stares at him. Diarmuid’s face turns beet red.

“Oh, sorry, I—”

The man shakes his head rapidly, then brings his hand up to make a cutting motion across his neck, then a series of unfamiliar gestures. 

Diarmuid furrows his eyebrows for a moment until it clicks. “Oh! Are you deaf? I’m so terribly sorry—” he babbles, not sure if he can even hear him. 

The man violently shakes his head again, then points to his throat. 

“You just can’t speak? But you can hear?” The man nods. “Ah, well that’s fine! You can just… write me if you need anything. Or… maybe I should give you my number so you can send me a text?” 

The man looks away for a moment, then shrugs. Diarmuid has a moment of mortification to realize he’s offering to  _ give this man his number. _ He’s usually not so forward. In fact, he barely has any numbers on his phone, as he usually keeps to himself. 

“Uh, here…” he takes his mobile out of his pocket and hands it to the man. “If you want to put your number on here, I’ll send you a text so you can have mine.” 

The man takes the phone with a look of uncertainty, but he types in his info anyways. Diarmuid is nervous that the man doesn’t want to give him his number, and feels harassed by his presence. But he hands it back, and Diarmuid smiles politely. He looks down at the screen at the new contact. 

“David,” he reads, and looks back up at the man. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

He opens up a new message and types  _ “hi it’s diarmuid, your neighbour” _ before hitting send. “There, you should have my number now as well.” 

David nods in thanks, then motions with the plate in his hands back into his apartment. 

“Oh yes, go put those away! I hope you like them, I just wanted to give you something to enjoy while you get settled. I’ll leave you to it now.” 

He waves awkwardly as David closes the door behind him. As soon as he’s gone, he slaps his face. 

_ Oh no, he’s hot.  _

—

He’s back in his apartment reading a book when he gets the first text:  _ cookies were good. thanks. _ He smiles. 

—

The next time they see each other is at the coffee shop down the street from where they live. Diarmuid frequents it and he’s surprised to spot David in line in front of him. He thinks about what he should do for a moment before he decides to tap him on the shoulder. The man turns around and Diarmuid gives him a little wave.

“Hey, didn’t expect to see you here,” he greets. “This is where I come most mornings, the drinks are really good here.” 

David nods, giving him a small smile. Diarmuid then has a moment of panic as he struggles to figure out how to keep the one-sided conversation going.

“Anyways! I usually get the chai latte here. It’s really good if that’s up your alley. Of course, I don’t know how you take your tea… or do you prefer coffee?”

He feels dumb for asking David a question that he can’t answer until he holds up his phone, showing that he typed out his order in his notes app:  _ large black coffee. _

“Oh!” Diarmuid says in surprise. “You write it down for them. That makes sense. Clever! Wow, you like the bitter drinks, huh? I can’t drink coffee, I prefer tea but… you strike me as someone who would drink black coffee. You’re very… uh…” 

Diarmuid blushes. He’s talking too much. The silence is unnerving, he shouldn’t have started the conversation. David, however, just smiles in amusement. Then the cashier calls for the next in line so he turns around to walk up to the counter. Diarmuid is left floundering in strange emotions as he watches David give the cashier a series of hand gestures before pointing at his phone. She nods, then he types something and shows her again. She reads the text on the phone, then looks up at Diarmuid for a moment before nodding again and typing in his order. When they finish their exchange, it’s Diarmuid’s turn to walk up to the counter. 

“One regular chai latte, please,” he orders.

“Actually, the man in front of you took care of your order,” the girl behind the counter smiles. “You can go wait over there.” 

Diarmuid blushes. “O-oh, thank you.” He looks over at David who’s waiting for his own drink in the corner. He shuffles over to join him. 

“T-that was very nice of you, thank you,” he says quietly. David just gives him a stiff nod. 

They wait in silence together until their drink orders arrive. They each grab theirs and face each other. David gives him one last nod and walks out the door of the shop, leaving Diarmuid to stare after him in shock. 

The drink leaves him feeling even warmer than usual.

—

They don’t see each other again except for a few passing run-ins until a few days later. Diarmuid is sitting at home, reading a book when he hears a knock at the door. Startled—he wasn’t expecting company—he goes to answer only to find David standing bashfully on the other side of the door. 

“Oh, hello David!” Diarmuid blinks in surprise. “I wasn’t expecting you, is there anything you need?” 

David lowers his eyes and holds up his phone, which has yet another pre-prepared explanation on his notes app. 

_ Sorry to bother you. Need help. Are you free? _

Diarmuid’s eyes widen. “Oh, yes I’m free! I could help you. What do you need?” 

David gestures for him to follow him to his flat, so he puts on his shoes and comes with him. He only has a moment to wonder why David is asking him for help and not someone else. Perhaps he doesn’t have very many friends? Diarmuid  _ did _ offer to help him with anything he needed the day after he moved in. 

He stands behind David as he unlocks his front door and leads him inside. He’s only been living there for around two weeks so Diarmuid doesn’t expect it to be completely furnished but he’s shocked by how… bare it is. And there aren’t many boxes left around either, which means he’s mostly unpacked. There are absolutely no photos on the walls or decorations of any kinds. He just seems to have the bare necessities and it looks like he’s ready to leave at a moment’s notice. 

“Wow, it’s very… roomy in here,” Diarmuid tries. 

David breathes out a silent laugh, seeing right through Diarmuid’s attempt at a compliment. He knows how it looks. He gestures for Diarmuid to follow him up the stairs towards the bedroom. There he shows him a modest desk setup with an ancient-looking computer. The router is plugged in but blinking red to signify it’s not connected and the web is open to a page that says “no internet connection found.” 

Diarmuid turns to David. “You can’t get your internet to work?” 

David shakes his head. 

“Has it not been set up this entire time?” 

David hesitates, then shakes his head again.

“You’ve been here two weeks!” Diarmuid exclaims. “Why haven’t you gotten it set up earlier?” 

David shrugs, looking ashamed. Diarmuid feels bad for how accusatory he sounded. 

“Sorry, sorry… it’s fine! I just feel bad. Never hesitate to come get me if you need help. I may not be a tech genius, but I’m pretty sure I can figure this out…” 

He sits down at the desk and checks out the setup. He ends up needing to call customer service for help, something he realizes David couldn’t do for himself. David is watching him carefully the whole time, looking a little ashamed, and Diarmuid keeps trying to give him reassuring smiles so he doesn’t feel like he’s bothering him. Because he isn’t, at all. In fact, Diarmuid is really happy that David came to him specifically for help. It makes him feel… good.

When Diarmuid refreshes the webpage and it loads to the homescreen, he gives a little cheer. He looks over at David, who’s smiling gratefully. They just stare at each other and smile for a moment. Diarmuid is struck by how his eyes crinkle in the corners when he smiles and is overwhelmed with the urge to run his fingers through his thick beard. He looks away quickly. When he looks back, David seems like he wants to tell him something. 

Heat flushes it’s way up Diarmuid’s neck and to his ears. The moment suddenly feels much larger, their eyes locked together and neither one saying anything. David because he can’t, and Diarmuid because he’s afraid. He breaks the silence with a cough. 

“I should head back now,” he says quietly and immediately hates himself for it as David’s face falls. “But don’t hesitate to get me if you need any more help!”  _ Or for any reason at all, _ he doesn’t say. 

As he’s walked back to the front door, silence filling the space between them, Diarmuid decides their mode of communication isn’t working. 

—

At home, Diarmuid researches local ISL classes. It turns out there are surprisingly many offered, and for a reasonable price. Diarmuid could take them at night while he focused on his grad work and part-time job during the day. It was perfect. He finds a good beginners class with great reviews that’s located nearby and signs himself up.

On the first day of class, he feels nervous. He hopes this isn’t a big mistake. But at the very least, it’ll be good to be able to communicate with his neighbor more easily. 

The instructor’s name is Cathal and he’s cheerful and supportive. The first class starts out with the alphabet and some common phrases and they move on from there. By the end of the day, he knows how to spell his name in sign and he’s assigned homework.

He practices alone in his room in front of the mirror. It’s surprisingly tricky to get the hand gestures right, and he never realized how much facial expressions play a part in sign language as well. But he works at it, determined to learn. 

Whenever he sees David he smiles and waves, not letting on his secret hobby quite yet. He wants it to be a surprise—wants to wait until he’s gotten a better hang of it before he reveals his new skill. 

So he acts as if nothing is new and chats with David the way they’ve become accustomed to. He chatters on about nothing at all and David stays silent, listening. He would feel rude if not for how interested his neighbor seems, nodding along and occasionally smiling. There is a small bench outside their housing unit, and Diarmuid comes home from work or classes sometimes to find David just sitting there, waiting for him to join. 

So despite his friend having not said one word to him, and Diarmuid hardly knowing anything about him at all, he feels quite a partnership to him. He wonders if it bothers David that he can’t talk back, but even when they text he only sends short responses. It seems the man is content to just sit back and listen to Diarmuid. It’s a thought that makes him feel all warm inside. 

—

After a few weeks, Diarmuid graduates from beginner to intermediate. He now has the alphabet memorized by heart and knows basic greetings, questions, and has a loose grasp on small talk. It’s not much in the way of full-blown conversation, but he believes it’s enough to show off his skills to David at least, while he learns more. 

He’s really nervous about revealing what he’s been learning. Once he does, David will know how much time Diarmuid dedicated to being able to talk to him, and he’ll either be really flattered or, if Diarmuid is reading things wrong, really creeped out. But no, Diarmuid tells himself resolutely, his friend will appreciate it. 

The next time they see each other, Diarmuid is walking out of his complex while David is walking in. Diarmuid is so eager to show off his skills that he accidentally shouts for him too loudly, causing the older man to startle. 

David looks up in surprise and waves at Diarmuid, as is their custom. Now, it’s Diarmuid’s chance to wow him. He’s suddenly filled with nerves as he raises his hands to sign.

_ Hi, how are you today? _

David stares at him in shock. He doesn’t respond back in sign, and Diarmuid feels embarrassed. 

“S-sorry,” he says, lowering his head. “I’ve been practicing, I wanted to surprise you. I, uh... I’ve been taking classes. I just thought—sorry.” 

David shakes his head quickly, then raises his own hands.

_ Thank you. _

Diarmuid beams. 

—

Diarmuid continues his classes and slowly tries to introduce more and more ISL into his conversations with David. The man appreciates his efforts, even when he struggles to remember how to sign certain words. He doesn’t sign back much, just short phrases and he does them slowly for Diarmuid to understand. Diarmuid still talks to him mostly in spoken language, but it feels much more intimate to sign things. Like it’s their secret language.

Plus, he always cracks a smile out of David when he shows off a new word or phrase he’s learned.

But after they’ve been talking for a couple of months, Diarmuid wants to up the ante. He mostly just knows small talk, but he wants to bring out the big guns. And for this, he goes to his teacher for help. 

Cathal is amused when Diarmuid speaks to him after class. “You’re learning ISL to impress a crush?” 

Diarmuid blushes. “Erm, yes… and I want to know how to ask him out in sign.”

Cathal laughs. “How sweet. If you let me know what you’d like to say, I’ll help you learn how to sign it.” 

Diarmuid hands him a piece of paper. “Nothing too fancy, I was thinking something like this…” 

—

So that’s how Diarmuid finds himself a few days later nervously knocking on David’s door. His hands shake and suddenly he has second thoughts. What if he’s wrong? Maybe he shouldn’t be doing this...

But David opens the door and smiles, signing hello and Diarmuid is already there and he has to do something. 

Nerves getting the better of him, he raises his shaky hands to sign. His mind suddenly feels blank and he can’t quite remember the movements he’s practiced over and over again. He fumbles them, hoping the general gist comes across.

But when he stares hopefully at David, the man is beet red and looks confused. Oh… so maybe Diarmuid misinterpreted things after all… 

“I’m sorry,” Diarmuid says aloud. “I shouldn’t have been so forward, I…” 

David looks flustered. He signs something unfamiliar to Diarmuid. He just shakes his head in confusion. “I’m sorry, I don’t get it…” 

Hastily, David pulls out his phone and types frantically. He hands it over to Diarmuid. 

_ I don’t know if you meant to sign that… I’m hoping maybe I could at least buy you dinner first?  _

Now it’s Diarmuid’s turn to go bright red. What did he say!? 

“Oh! No, it was supposed to be me asking you out! I practiced it with my ISL teacher, but… I guess I messed up. I was too nervous, and now you beat me to it. Would you really like to get dinner sometime?” 

David gives a silent laugh. He appears amused by Diarmuid’s blunder. Then he nods. 

_ Of course. I would love to.  _

Diarmuid smiles so wide his cheeks hurt. “Perfect! I’m free any time, really. I mean, I’m even free now… does that sound too eager? I don’t… you’re probably busy now, I should… I should go…” 

David silently laughs again and reaches for his coat. 

“Oh! You’re ready now too? Perfect! Then… I guess we’ll get going. It’s a date?”

David nods and shuts his door. Then he signs:  _ It’s a date.  _

That, at least, Diarmuid understands. 


End file.
